


calm me down

by imperialhare



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dildos, Fucking Machines, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, not abo though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-16 03:31:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14803562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperialhare/pseuds/imperialhare
Summary: These days, Samothes asks fewer questions about why it happens, every spring like clockwork. It becomes a tradition he almost looks forward to, despite the stress it causes. Samot’s biology forces it, even though the biology of a god is the mind and the magic — Samot believes it of himself, so it’s true. He calls it heat, as if it had anything at all to do with the estrus of wolves.Samot goes into heat for magic bullshit reasons and it's up to Samothes to make sure his husband is well-attended to.





	calm me down

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes, when you love your husband very much, and are also incredibly horny and magical and the magic that makes up your body is affected by your subconscious desires, things like "going into heat once a year for no reason other than it means he _has_ to fuck you all week" happen! it's valid!
> 
> title from the mother mother song
> 
> shoutouts to james for getting me to commit to writing this like two months ago :'D

_“Why did I make him like this?” Samol repeated, raising his eyebrows. He laughed when he saw the expression on Samothes’ face — puzzled, embarrassed, a little annoyed. “This isn’t on me, son. I gave him the ability to have a body, not the body itself. Everything else is up to him.”_

***

These days, Samothes asks fewer questions about why it happens, every spring like clockwork. It becomes a tradition he almost looks forward to, despite the stress it causes. Samot’s biology forces it, even though the biology of a god is the mind and the magic — Samot believes it of himself, so it’s true. He calls it _heat_ , as if it had anything at all to do with the estrus of wolves.

He can feel it coming on even before Samot is awake — something changes in the air, in the scent of him, Samothes wonders if he seems a little warmer, his pale skin a little flushed in the small light of morning. It affects Samothes, too, that warmth — there’s something heady and sweet about it that makes him just a touch lightheaded, and stirs an urge between his legs. At the height of the week, just the strength of that scent around Samot is maddening enough to make Samothes shake him awake so they can resume fucking each other to exhaustion, but it’s only the first morning, so instead he brushes the strands of hair back from where they fall loose around Samot’s face, tucks them behind his ear. There is time and space enough for Samothes to go down to the forge and prep his equipment (something new every year, even though he knows the best tools are simply his hands and body, but nothing can stop Ingenuity Alive from trying, at least), and then come back upstairs to prepare some food for them.

“I wish you weren’t so industrious,” Samot says, when Samothes comes back into their bedroom bearing a tray laden with breakfast and wine. “You know I hate to wake up to an empty bed.”

“Sleep until I come back, then,” Samothes replies, setting the tray down over Samot’s lap. “You need the rest.”

“So do you.” When Samothes sits back down in bed Samot practically climbs over the tray and into his lap. “You have to take care of me, after all. Your husbandly duties.”

It takes an enormous amount of restraint for Samothes to not give in to him then, so immediate is the reaction from his body. Arousal shoots through him like electricity when Samot gets close, and Samot smiles when Samothes hesitates to push him away, although he does manage. “Eat your food,” Samothes says firmly, handing him the tray again. Samot eats, but he keeps giving Samothes heated looks as he does it, and Samothes knows that however badly this is affecting him, it’s worse for Samot. Samot hides it well — it's the game he plays, masking his discomfort behind smugness, not wanting to be the one whose desperation is worse — not until his breaking point, anyway.

“It’s going to be bad this week,” Samot says.

“You say that every year.”

“Oh, but it is. Are you sure you can handle it alone?” It’s a challenge, Samothes knows this. “We could go to the Plains of Celebration — you could watch my followers fill me up until I can hardly think—”

“We’ll stay here,” Samothes says, and he can’t keep the edge of a growl out of his voice. 

Samot smiles into the rim of his glass. “You brought me breakfast wine. You love me.”

“I — of course I do.”

Samot grins wider as he drains the glass. “My favorite kind, too.”

Samot eats but he doesn't take his eyes off Samothes, his gaze predatory. How he wants Samothes, who is gazing with determination out the window, instead of at him, lest he give in to desire before Samot is done eating breakfast. Lust smolders in Samot like a steady pulse, and if he tried to conduct himself normally it would certainly drive him to distraction, but this early in the week he still has a hold on himself. He finishes the light breakfast quickly, sets it aside, touches Samothes’ hand to get his attention again. Samothes turns, the light catching in his hair and eyelashes. How Samot adores him.

“Are you — ah.” Samot smiles, sweeping his eyes downward to see the bulge tenting the front of Samothes’ pants. Samot himself is naked once he’s freed himself from the blankets, and hard too — a side effect of the heat, really. It makes his body tireless, even when nothing is happening — and even when he’s overstimulated to tears. “Kiss me.”

Samothes brings Samot closer, running his hands up Samot’s arms and over his shoulders, bringing them to settle at the small of his back as Samot straddles his lap. The heat of his palms against Samot’s skin are enough to make him sigh into the hollow of Samothes’ neck before Samothes tilts his heads upwards, gentle, a hand cupped under his chin. Samothes himself sighs against Samot’s lips, nearly, already, overwhelmed by love, by lust, by Samot. 

“I love you,” Samothes murmurs into the space between them, barely wide enough to breathe.

“I know,” Samot says before he kisses him again, heated, nipping at Samothes’ lips with his teeth, canting his hips down against Samothes, and groaning at the almost unpleasant friction of Samothes’ pants against his bare skin. “Why are you still—”

Samothes takes the cue easily, sliding himself out of his clothes without disturbing Samot’s position on his lap, so practiced is the motion. Samot hums approvingly, moving his mouth from Samothes’ to plant kisses along his beard, over the line from ear to jaw, with teeth against his neck and throat (drawing a groan from Samothes here that sends an electric thrill through his whole body). From throat to collarbone, and then a meandering line down his chest and stomach. How wonderful Samothes’ body is, that Samot adores every inch and every ounce. How he enjoys the anticipation that rests there when Samot trails his fingers lower, letting them brush the head of Samothes’ waiting cock, already wet and sticky with arousal.

“How beautiful your cock is,” Samot says, slyly, glancing up and down Samothes’ body as he slides himself into position, kneeling on their bedroom floor between Samothes’ spread thighs. “And what a state you’re in. Let me take responsibility for that.”

He brushes his hair behind his ears before taking the head of Samothes’ cock into his mouth. Samothes’ muscles tense as he resists the urge to buck against Samot's lips, and he clenches his fists in the sheets instead, bearing with Samot's teasing pace. Samot studies his expression closely as he laps precum up from the tip of Samothes’ cock, giving Samothes no more than those small brushes of contact — then sits back on his haunches, making a show of swallowing his prize and licking his lips as if it had been some delicious treat. Samothes groans, low in his throat — maybe some other day, he would reach forward and grab Samot by the head, tangling his fist up in his golden hair, drag Samot towards him and push himself into his husband's pretty mouth, rough and insistent— 

Samot sees the thought in his eyes, and smiles. “Not today,” he says. “You'll have me at your mercy quite soon enough, I think.”

Samot leans forward again, taking Samothes into his mouth, the motion almost casual — Samothes’ cock fills his mouth easily. Samot loves the girth of him, the taste of him — the latter perhaps unexceptional for any man, but Samot savors it nonetheless, and savors it more when Samothes lets out a gasping sigh — a reward for Samot’s efforts. The heat in him seems to grow. It would be easy, to give himself over now, to let Samothes handle the rest.

Samot slides his mouth off Samothes with a wet pop, gazes up at him through his eyelashes, coy. “Don't come,” he says, smiling. Samothes lets out a ragged exhale, his fingers flexing where they rest against Samot's scalp. 

“Samot,” he says, voice harsh from biting back his own cries of pleasure.

“Does the iron god not have perfect self-control?”

“And what if I couldn't?”

“ _Samothes_ ,” Samot says, mock disapproval in his voice. “You know I'm in no state to punish you. I'll just be disappointed.” Samot sighs dramatically, drawing circles on the inside of Samothes’ thigh with his index finger, leaving him painfully untouched. Samot could take him back into his mouth, wants to, even, heat rising in his body when he entertains the thought — but he resists the impulse. 

“When you come I want you to come inside me,” Samot says, at least partially to solidify his own resolve, but he likes the reaction it gets from Samothes, too — just the slightest tension in his body, a tightening of the muscle in his leg, noticeable only because Samot looks for it. If he could see Samothes’ face at this angle, his reaction would likely be plainer there, a fact Samot has always been fond of.

“Of course,” Samothes says, keeping the waver out of his voice. “Do you want—”

He leans down to pull Samot back up onto the bed and meets no resistance. Pulls him up to his chest and kisses him, then lays him out, taking care to sweep Samot’s hair up and out of the way, the golden strands laid out in a fan above his head as Samot settles onto the pillows. “You’re so beautiful,” Samothes murmurs, trailing his hands over Samot’s body, brushing against the head of his damp cock (Samot sighs), down to his thighs. Slides his palms between them and parts them easily. Samot grins when Samothes makes eye contact with him. An invitation. Samothes wants him so much it's nearly unbearable.

Samothes kneels for Samot then, between his legs, positioning them close until Samot has his thighs wrapped around his waist. Samothes’ cock is wet with precum again, and he makes himself slicker with oil, conjured from some place where a god’s needed things reside.

Samot bites back a small moan as Samothes enters him — a small triumph for Samothes, who wants badly to satisfy both Samot and himself. Samot likes the girth of him, always has — it feels so right to have Samothes inside him, parting him open, sliding deep to the hilt with ease. How many times have they lain together like this? Thousands, at least, certainly more still than that.

“Does it feel good?” Samothes asks.

Samot sighs. “Yes... but I want you to fuck me.”

Samothes places his hands firm on Samot’s waist, holding him at just the right angle as he starts with slow, deep thrusts, surveying Samot’s reactions — a little sigh there, the fluttering of his eyelashes, the first ragged breath as Samothes pushes against his prostate, the moment at which his fingers clench in the sheets. Samothes loves him, wants him, wants to please him — a side effect of the heat? Doesn’t he always feel this way? Samothes leans down to kiss Samot, lips wanting against Samot’s neck — sucking there hard enough to leave a mark. Sliding his hands under Samot’s waist now. “Put your arms around my neck,” he murmurs, and Samot does, making only a soft noise in acknowledgement. He gasps as Samothes lifts him against himself, as gravity causes Samothes to slide deeper inside him, forced to brace himself against Samothes even as Samothes fucks him, fills his body with heat — ah, in more ways than one—

“Don’t be so restrained,” Samothes says, a fond and teasing note in his voice.

“Presumptuous,” Samot responds, but he shudders mid-syllable, ruining the effect. Samothes fills him perfectly, his hands feel like they slot right in place around his waist. Samot loves him. It isn’t the time to say so, yet. Samothes increases his pace slowly, and Samot feels it, the strength in his husband’s body, all devoted to him.

He gasps, and shudders hard — Samothes responds by increasing his pace, fucking Samot even while he shakes around his cock, drawing out a prolonged moan from Samot’s lips. Cum smears sticky over both their stomachs from Samot’s cock where it’s pressed between them. Samothes lays him back down to regain his breath, his still-erect cock slipping out easily.

“You haven’t come,” Samot says, more disappointed in himself than he thought he’d be.

“You always come faster when you’re in heat.”

“Do I?”

“It’s cute,” Samothes says, and Samot kicks his knee.

“Again,” Samot grumbles, turning onto his side and pulling his leg up. Samothes’ gaze goes immediately to his still-open hole, appealingly stretched and slick with oil. “I’m not done with you.”

Samothes laughs, laying behind Samot and placing a hand on his hip, wrapping the other arm around Samot’s chest. What luxury, to lie with his beloved all day.

*

By mid-week, things are more dire. In the evening, on the third day — or perhaps the fourth, both of them having more important things to do than count — Samot already well-fucked, but still wanting, unwilling to let Samothes leave their bed for more than a few moments before it feels like his body might burn up in his absence.

Samothes doesn’t bother to go to the cellar to bring Samot more wine, but instead has conjured it to their bedroom with a wave of his hand. Gasping, Samot reaches for his glass, still half full. Samothes stops kissing him to give him the room to move, but presses his face into Samot’s collarbone, breathing in the heady scent of him. He hears the glass leave the nightstand, and then Samot is tugging at his hair, pushing his head back — gently, but with an insistence that verges on desperation. Samot presses the glass to his parted lips, and Samothes drinks, messily, letting liquid trickle in a red-violet stream down the sides of his mouth and onto his chest. The wine is sweet and cloying, deepening the already addled heat of his mind as he drinks. 

Samot kisses him again before he swallows it all, licking wine from the spaces of his mouth, below his tongue and between his lips and his teeth. Samothes nearly whines as Samot pulls his mouth away again, but then he’s kissing the sweet residue from Samothes’ skin, trailing lips down his neck and and collarbone and then to where wine has pooled in the dips and hollows of his chest.

“Not yet,” Samothes murmurs, catching Samot’s wrist when he moves to touch Samothes’ cock. He’s oversensitive, still — a strange thing, to feel so physically spent and yet so utterly aroused. But it’s hard to keep pace with Samot in the midst of his heat, and he knows well enough not to overexert himself now.

“I need more,” Samot says, pressing his wet and open mouth against Samothes’ neck. Samothes can feel the vibrations of his words through his skin. “I need more, Samothes, please—”

“Hold on. Hold on, beloved, please.”

Samot groans, grinding himself against Samothes’ leg, but he still has enough of himself to show some restraint, pulling back to let Samothes recover. It verges on unbearable, to tear himself away like that, but he does, fisting his hands in the sheets instead as he kneels there. “I can’t hold on long,” he says. His body is trembling. It isn’t from overstimulation, no, he’s hardly had enough — from the effort of holding himself back.

“I have — here.” Samothes rummages through the drawers at the other end of their bedroom, frustrated at his own lack of organization as he searches, feeling Samot’s gaze hot on his back. He finds their collection of toys — Samothes’ own designs for the most part — scattered throughout several drawers, and picks up the one he knows to be Samot’s favorite, feeling a little hot in the face as he recalls its backstory.

“You know I prefer the real thing,” Samot says when Samothes returns to him, but without real reproach in his voice. He turns his face slightly into the pillow, and gives Samothes only a sidelong glance as he spreads his legs again, hands wandering his own body to try and ease that insatiable need. “Never mind. Hurry.”

“I know,” Samothes murmurs, and pushes the toy into him. Samot moans softly as it enters him without resistance, reaching out so that Samothes can take his hand, let him steady himself like that. The phallus the toy imitates is inhuman in shape and girth, strategically decorated with bumps and ridges and ending in a thick knot. The massive cock of some monster Samot had imagined up for such a purpose. 

(“Hieron is full of real monsters,” Samothes had said, when presented with Samot's design. Samot had laughed and replied, “you aren't suggesting I go out there and fuck them, are you?”)

Samot sighs — pleasure pulses out through him, making him shiver and press towards Samothes, wanting. There is a certain delicious strain in being stretched, a soreness building there, but Samot welcomes that too, how thoroughly fucked it makes him feel — Samothes is so thoughtful, starting slow — Samot wants more. Samothes pushes the toy in up to the knot. Samot moans at the pressure inside him now, arches against it, canting his hips upward for a more pleasurable angle — Samothes is kissing the inside of his thigh—

Samothes’ mouth is on him, lips ghosting over his tightened balls before Samothes licks a quick line over his cock and takes him halfway into his mouth, sucking slowly and deliberately there. It happens so quickly — Samot arches and twists in the sheets, an extended moan leaving his lips, bucking shallowly into Samothes’ warm, wet mouth and simultaneously fucking himself on the dildo, the two sensations making his body run white hot with pleasure. Samot shakily pushes himself up just a little bit, so he can look at Samothes — Samothes who has his sweat soaked hair plastered all over his handsome face, who glances with golden eyes up through his thick eyelashes to meet Samot's gaze, and whose mouth is so dedicated to Samot's pleasure — “I'm close again,” Samot gasps, and Samothes makes a noise of assent around him and presses in further, hands firm on Samot's hips as Samot, trembling and with a shuddering moan, comes in his mouth. Samothes pulls back so he can swallow, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand, gently stroking Samot’s hip as the aftershocks hit him. 

Samot recovers in a moment, and meets Samothes’ gaze fondly as his breathing evens again.

“Are you—”

Samot shakes his head. “The knot.”

“Insatiable.”

“Would you want me any other way?” Samot smiles, and with some effort turns over and pushes his hips up towards Samothes, breath hitching slightly when the change in position changes the angle of the toy inside him. How Samothes works to please him.

*

The last day is the worst day, always. At other times Samothes has wondered why Samot couldn’t frontload the work, perhaps, have his worst day when Samothes wasn’t already exhausted by a full week — but whatever emotion or magic puts Samot in this state isn’t a rational one, and so Samothes can only be prepared the best he can. These aren’t thoughts he has during the last day, of course — the moment he awakens, his mind is already addled by the scent of Samot so close to him in bed, bringing him instantly to acute desire. 

Samot wakes as soon as Samothes lays hands on him, and almost immediately begins to beg Samothes to take him, to not leave him empty. Samothes obliges him. There are no universes in which Samothes can even consider not obliging him. It is the strength of a god that lets him last until the afternoon like this, but Samot’s desire outpaces his abilities, and so Samothes has to resort once again to tools.

Samot does not complain as Samothes positions him on the machine, is in no state to — sighs as Samothes’ hands flit over him, tying him deftly into an elaborate harness, lets out a soft moan as the mounted toy slips inside him. Samothes made it the same size and shape as his own cock, at Samot’s request, although Samot probably doesn’t even remember it now — he may only have been joking. These thoughts don’t occur to him now either. The setup is free-standing, the harness and suspension keeping Samot effortlessly in an upright position, seated on the artificial cock like a throne, but even so Samothes can’t keep himself away — has to do _something_ , has to be touching Samot even if he can’t be fucking him — circles him, running hands down his chest, his back, kisses his neck as Samot moans. Samothes’ touches are kindling for the lust that burns in Samot like a wildfire, he writhes on the machine even though the bindings keep him in place, trying to lean towards Samothes at the same time as he bucks against the toy, gasping. He wants more, he wants — wants Samothes. Samothes turns the machine on and for a moment Samot’s mind goes blank. Samothes’ hands on his hips feel burning hot, the machine thrusting into him with ruthless mechanical precision — he lets out a shuddering moan with each motion, spasming as it thrusts against his prostate. Samothes is saying words to him but he can’t process them. He can only think about the next sensation—

He comes, hard and with a high whine, buckling against the machine. Without the harness he would surely fall over, but instead he is kept fast while the machine fucks him through his orgasm, making him cry out, a desperate noise as it pushes him over the edge again. Liquid beads at the head of his cock but little more than that, his body almost too spent to keep up with his own lust. “Samothes,” he manages to gasp. Samothes’ hands are at his sides, Samothes is holding him, caressing his face. Samot pushes his face into Samothes’ palm, which is about all the motion the harness allows him. “Please, Samothes — please, I want _you, I want you_ ,” Samot gasps, then suddenly tenses and shudders again. The pleasure, the sensation is there but it isn't _enough_ to satisfy him. It could wear him out but it wouldn't be enough at all.

“Hold on a little longer,” Samothes says. His hand wraps loosely around Samot's cock, thumb wiping away the smear of cum at the tip of him. Samot shudders hard again, tears beading in the corners of his eyes. It isn't enough.

“Please, Samothes…”

It doesn’t matter that Samothes can’t fuck him as steadily, as tirelessly as the machine can — his whole body is poured full of wanting for Samothes, Samothes, Samothes. In that moment, nothing but Samothes will do, nothing less will satisfy him—

No, not just in that moment. In his whole life. Nothing less than Samothes would do.

Seeing the desperation in Samot's face, in the tense line of his body, Samothes decides that he's recovered enough. Samothes could, if he had to, just bind Samot in place and leave him there helpless — gag him so that he would save his breath begging — but also he knows that the longing in Samot's body is so acute, so intense as to be painful, and it seems cruel to leave his husband in such a state. 

He turns off the machine, pulls Samot free from the straps and harness, holds him as Samot whines, exhausted but still wanting, into the hollow of Samothes’ neck. Samothes feels Samot’s teeth against his skin, but without bite, just the echo of bites past, a reminder that his love is still a wild thing, even though right now he remains at Samothes’ sole mercy. Samothes brings him to the bed and lays him down.

“Do you still need more?” Samothes asks, trying to keep his voice steady, and already knowing the answer. Now that he’s come this close to Samot again the scent of his heat makes him dizzy. Samothes thinks that if he breathed in enough of Samot he might never think of anything else again.

“Please,” Samot says, over and over — he doesn't need to beg, Samothes has no intention or even means to deny him further, indeed, wants badly to satisfy him, to grant both of them relief, as long as it is within his ability — but the words pour out of if him helplessly, as if Samot had no real control over himself. Samothes climbs on top of him, kisses him heated, presses their bodies together, and Samot leans into the familiar pressure of Samothes holding him down with his weight against the bed. 

Samothes moves against him then, Samot more panting into his mouth than kissing back — he's so beautiful like this, Samothes manages to think, how badly I want to please him— 

Samot sobs as Samothes takes him, overwhelmed by simultaneous relief and overstimulation, his body raw and yet wanting, wanting — Samothes too feels himself on the verge of tears, and if he had more of his mind he might wonder at what a mess they must look, but he doesn’t. Samot is — Samot is clawing at his back, biting at him, Samothes can barely feel that familiar pain, knows well enough that it isn’t an indication to stop (quite the opposite) — Samot feels so unbelievably hot and sweet around him. Samothes loves him, this strange wild boy who constantly finds new ways to ensnare and transfix him, as if Samothes didn't already have eyes only for him — Samot loves him, although he doesn’t have the mind to say it, he displays it in his vulnerability now, in the way he’s engineered this violently physical display of affection, a heat that only Samothes can satisfy—

“Samothes!” 

Samothes kisses the tears from Samot's face, thrusts into him deep. “Samot, my love,” he gasps, fingers digging in hard to Samot's waist. The feeling of his cock inside Samot's body — it fills a yearning in Samot that makes him feel he may well have been made for it, or made himself for it, what difference does it make. The wave crests over both of them together, and Samothes spills himself messily inside Samot's body. They lay against each other for a long moment, breathing hard and shaking, both of them clinging with a desperation like castaways at sea.

Heat recedes from Samot's body, leaving behind an animal satisfaction and bone deep exhaustion. He raises his head to look at Samothes and smiles.

“Look at you,” he says, unbearable fondness in his voice, as he reaches out with trembling fingers to brush Samothes’ hair away from his face. “You're a mess.”

“Is that all the thanks I get?” Samothes replies, but underlined with a rumbling laugh. “Husband of mine.”

“Such a chore for you, to get to fuck a beautiful young man for a week.” Samot laughs as Samothes starts kissing his neck again, carding his fingers through Samothes’ hair. “Yes, husband, thank you. I couldn't ask for better.” A shy smile flits over his lips and he kisses the top of Samothes’ head. “I love you.”

They lay together for a while like that, knowing that eventually they would have to rise and clean up the mess they've made over the last week, and attend to various neglected divine duties. But Samot thinks they can take a little time to relax, first.


End file.
